


Douse.

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Patrician & Clerk [10]
Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Emotionally Repressed, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 08:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18192026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: “Thank you, my-- my dear.”He heard Drumknott exhale, softly.“You’re in pain... Havelock. The Disc will not fall from its place if you take an analgesic.”





	Douse.

“We ought to bed, my lord,” Drumknott said, and Vetinari sighed, drawing his fingers over the side of his temple. It was not yet eight o’clock, but his head has been aching for hours, now, and the pain behind his eyes was only deepening as the minutes pass them slowly by. He was getting little work done, regardless, and he--

He disliked it, when he was forced to retire early, or take time to lie down, as a result of his headaches. He’d had them since he was a boy, and they had only worsened with age, and now...There was work to be done: there were things he needed to do, but this evening, now, it was best, he felt, to retire now.

He wouldn’t have done, ten years ago, twenty years ago. He didn’t have Drumknott, then, as he did now. He didn’t take time for himself, didn’t relax as he did now. His work was the better for it, that he knew, and yet he so hated to come away from his work, more than he hated the pain, the dizziness, he hated to  _break_.

Reluctantly, Vetinari agreed, “Very well, Drumknott.”

Drumknott gave a curt nod of his head, his expression serious. 

When they were in bed together, Drumknott sat up against the headboard, settled a pillow in his lap, and Vetinari laid upon his back, and he exhaled as Drumknott’s cool fingers settled gently upon his cheeks, drawing the fingers up toward his temples, rubbing slow circles against the skin, and Vetinari quietly hissed.

“Rufus,” he murmured quietly, and Drumknott’s fingers did not stop in their gentle massage of his scalp, the cold pads of his fingers, of his freezing palms. He could feel the callouses and scars, the burns and marks, upon his hands, and he relaxed beneath their familiar touch, at the stark contrast between them and the warm softness of Mr Fusspot curled up on his belly, breathing quietly. 

“Is it helping?” Drumknott asked quietly.

“Yes. I--” His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. He was aware, as ever, that there were things he could not say, that he could not force into the soft conversation between them. “Thank you, my-- my  _dear_.”

He heard Drumknott exhale, softly. 

“You’re in pain... Havelock. The Disc will not fall from its place if you take an analgesic.”

Vetinari reached up, settling his fingers gently against the back of Drumknott’s hand, not grasping at it, not gripping at him, merely touching his hand, allowing it to continue its ministrations. “I don’t need one,” he murmured. “This is sufficient. Thank you.”

“You’re a fool,” Drumknott said softly. The words dripped with affection, and Vetinari opened his eyes in the dim light of the candle, looking up at his face, at the indulgence in his expression, the warmth in his small smile. 

“Douse the candle,” Vetinari said.

They settled together in the darkness. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me up [on Dreamwidth](https://dictionarywrites.dreamwidth.org/2287.html). You can send requests [on Tumblr](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask), too. Requests always open.


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